


Angelic Devil or Devilish Angel

by Sailing_ShipWreck



Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: Angel Wings, Angels, Angst, Demons, Despair, Devils, Drabble, Fallen Angels, Hell, I Don't Even Know, Lucifer Feels, Lucifer Morningstar (Lucifer TV) Needs A Hug, POV Lucifer, Pre-Canon, Short One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-08
Updated: 2020-06-08
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:34:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24613117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sailing_ShipWreck/pseuds/Sailing_ShipWreck
Summary: Once, a demon had had the courage to ask Lucifer if he missed Heaven. In the Underworld, no one ever mentioned the Silver City: the mere name was an offense, a betrayal to the King.
Comments: 5
Kudos: 49





	Angelic Devil or Devilish Angel

**Author's Note:**

> Hello there! This is my first Lucifer fanfic even though this is more of a drabble. I actually have some longer fics planned down and in process, only I thought I could post this first because it's short and all done. Honestly, I have no idea what it is. It's just that I try to write a little something everyday and I didn't feel like continuing my longer fics so I wrote this instead. It's like some sort of writing exercise, I guess. Anyway, I guess you don't really care about that and only want to read a little something, so here you go!
> 
> Hope you enjoy!!!! :D

Ash fell down slowly, swirling in the non-existent wind, landing softly on his hair, his face. It gathered on the ground around him, but somehow, it never piled up like snow. There was a fine layer covering the burnt and dry soil of Hell, but never more than an inch. He never quite figured out where it went. It didn’t matter: he hated this incessant ash fall with a passion, no matter the amount at his feet.

He looked around blankly, bored and emotionless in the face of the Infernal realm. He’d been down there for eons; nothing surprised him anymore, nothing affected him anymore. Or at least, it was what he liked to tell himself everytime he spent a little too much time staring down at his kingdom from his high up throne. The demons, the lakes of fire, the cells, the screams of the damned, the shine of his best torturers’ weapons. All of this was routine, a part of his life that he couldn’t ignore. He had been faced with it every single second of his immortal life ever since his Fall.

Once, a demon had had the courage to ask him if he missed Heaven. In the Underworld, no one ever mentioned the Silver City: the mere name was an offense, a betrayal to the King. He didn’t like thinking about what he had lost. However, he didn’t miss it, because it didn’t exist for him anymore. If he were to ever come back to Heaven, despite the impossibleness of such action, nothing would be as it was before. His family hated him, the mere mention of his name stirring off sneers of disgust and insults dripping with venom. Either that, or they just didn’t care about him anymore, pretended he never existed. Perhaps it was better. But he wasn’t fooling anyone. He preferred their hatred a thousand times over their apathy.

Anyhow, there was nothing left in him concerning his family except scorching fury and desperate wrath. He didn’t want their forgiveness nor did he want anything to do with them. Not after everything they did — or didn’t do — to him. No, he didn’t miss the Silver City. He loathed it.

The angel who once would have done anything to come back, even plead and beg, was dead. Samael wasn’t of this world anymore and in his place was Lucifer, born from the ashes of the brightest angel to become the most bitter Devil. No matter how much light the Lightbringer placed in Hell, stars or fires or incandescent radiationst, the only thing to ever remain was darkness. The Underworld couldn’t be lit up, no matter how much efforts he put in the hopeless task.

Hell was alive on its own, matching itself to its King. Changing, transforming, adjusting, endlessly and incessantly, to suit its Ruler’s state of mind. The Infernal realm became crueller and more dangerous every time he came back from Earth after his feathered prick of a brother forced him back down there. Sometimes, when he was somehow feeling something else than burning anger or cold hostility, Hell went into some sort of sleep, giving a brief, but even more sadistic than its usual punishment, respite; a pause of sorts. It never lasted the same time, sometimes minutes, other times hours. The millions of sinners’ souls had the time to take a breath from their eternal torture, filling themselves with hope that maybe it was finally the end, only for their punishment to come with a vengeance and destroy their pathetic faith. Nothing would ever save them, just like nothing would ever save him, their King.

After a while, the souls broke. Even the torture couldn’t get a reaction out of them. They expected it, waited for it, even. It was all they knew, and all they were ever going to know. Their memories of their life on Earth shattered after some centuries, and nothing was left but broken fragments that they spent the rest of their time trying to piece back together, trapped in their own mind, suffering a different kind of agony than the one afflicted by his demons. They reclined to the deepest corner of their head, blind to the world, blind to Hell. They lost themselves, and never came back. They continued to go through their Hell loops, over and over again, only it didn’t matter anymore. 

He had tried a couple of times to wake a broken soul, to no avail. Nothing could pull them out of their self-inflicted trance. He’d even attempted to bring back one of them to Earth with him last time he visited, put it in a recently deceased human, and waited to see if the damned soul would snap out of its slumber when faced with the familiarity of their previous life. The human had remained catatonic, in the same fashion than the soul he had just dumped in their body. This little experiment had only gotten him a feeling of failure, a sense of defeat, and a kick back down to Hell by Amenadiel. Really, his brother should really get that stick out of his arse.

He unfurled his wings, staring down insensitively at the movement of his kingdom. His extra appendages were immediately covered in ash, their white glow of divinity tainted with Hell’s poison. The feathers twitched and bristled on their own accord. He climbed down his throne and took a step forward in the emptiness below, flapping his wings before he even had the time to start free-falling. This sensation wasn’t welcome anymore, thanks to Dear Old Dad.

He flew over the endless landscape of cells and stones, tracing lazy circles in the grey sky. The demons under looked up in awe and terror, quickly scattering whenever he got too close. The Underworld's inhabitants were fascinated by his wings as much as they were frightened by them: a bright reminder that their King wasn’t one of their own, and never would be. No matter how much he desired so, he would never be able to erase his celestial nature just like the demons would never have to ability to deny their infernal essence. Even the most powerful demonic forces were destined to bite the dust whenever confronting angelic powers. He was a source of wonder and the receiver of praise for his celestial strength just as much as he was feared because of it. The demons would never be like him and he would never be like them. He didn’t belong with them, never would, no matter how much Hell rotted him at his core.

He may be the Devil, but he was still an angel.

Nothing would ever change that.

**Author's Note:**

> Hello again! Yes, it is already the end. I told you it was short! Anyway, I really hoped you liked it and comments are always appreciated ;) 
> 
> Have a good day! (or night, because if you're like me you're probably reading this at 3AM)


End file.
